


Guide You in the Dark

by rivlee



Series: Midnight Land [1]
Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franklin City has a group of Extra Sensory Cops and someone’s killing off their citizens. Warning for minor character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fishandcheese](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fishandcheese).



> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the portrayals as seen in The Pacific and Band of Brothers. No offense or harm is intended. Title from Empires’ Spit the Dark
> 
> Author’s notes: From a prompt by fishandcheese for the first round of pacificxchange. First part was beated by the wonderful uniformly and it was all read over by skylilies. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
>  

**Part One** :

Franklin City wasn’t the biggest metropolitan area on the map. It hardly held the interest of passing tourists or big city cultural types; nor was it a major banking or financial center. Franklin City, in short, was one of the few metropolitan areas in the country with a fully staffed Special Interests Police Force, or rather, a spook squad full of cops with extra abilities.

No one knew what to call Franklin City’s special population as whole. They had plenty of names for the sub-groups, for the mind readers and speed demons; the weather commanders and the metal movers. Still, the government hesitated from calling them mutants, or gifted, or different. Similarly, no one wanted to actually use words like psychics, or super powers, or anything that suggested a world similar to those found in dime-store comics. So they were officially documented as Extra Sensory Citizens. Most people just went with Freaks. It seemed easier, neater, and took less effort.

Lew Juergens couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t live and work in Franklin City. He’d been there for at least a century. He had watched the city shape and change. He was also one of the first officers in the Franklin Police Force, back when it was more a village than a city. He even had his desk in the same corner of the office since the 1960s.

Lew worked in all sorts of departments in the police force. He started in the early 1920s as a traffic cop, and worked his way up until he got a comfortable investigator position in the Special Interests Squad. He liked his job there, working as one of the few originals left in the department. Of course, none of the rookies believed that Lew was an Old Salt. He sure as hell didn’t look one of the Old Timers. Most of the new staff pegged Lew as 21; 24 if they were being generous. No one realized that this past year was his 125th. Once he hit puberty Lew went from aging at an average rate to competing with a tree over who could grow faster.

Lt. Vincent Stone ran their squad. He was a new promotion after Lt. Hugh Corrigan left them for a cushy federal position. Lew liked Stone, if only because he was the one to assign Lew’s new partner, Runner.

Runner was a breath of much needed fresh air. He was new, young, smart, wholly innocent, sarcastic and jaded in all the ways only youth can manage. And he was fast, not just in terms of speed, as his power suggested, but his mind was quick. He usually had the way of things before Lew even finished explaining something. He took the name Runner because there were at least three other members of the force with super speed who went by The Flash. His real name was Wilbur Conley, but everyone called him Runner. Or the Kid, but that title now went to Gibson, the newest rookie. Still, out all the partners Lew’d been paired with over the years, Runner was the most compatible. And that said something when going against over a century of working partners.

“Hey, Chuckler,” Runner called out. He was in the doorway of the locker room, a smaller man hovering by his side.

The boys and girls in the precinct called him The Chuckler, since they said he laughed everything off. Lew didn’t know if that was so much true, but he’d much rather be called The Chuckler than Dorian Grey. No matter how many times he tried to convince Millie Acosta of the Historical Society, he did _not_ have a portrait hidden in his attic.

Lew tried not to smirk at the obvious fresh meat.

“Runner, it looks like you got a shadow,” he said.

“Ronnie Gibson,” the shadow said with a wave of his hand.

“Fresh out of the Academy, Stone told me to show him around,” Runner explained.

Lew nodded, he’d been with Stone on all the recruitment trips, had seen Gibson’s quick reaction time and reflexes. The kid still needed some work, but they’d had worse pass through the precinct.

“Go on, conquer those mean streets. We don’t have any pressing casework today,” he said.

“You sure?” Runner asked.

“Just paperwork,” Lew said, “I got you covered, Conley.”

“We’ll pick you up some lunch,” Runner said before leaving.

Lew gave a small wave to Gibson as the other man scampered off, hurrying to keep up with what Runner termed his _granny slow_ stride.

He left the the locker room and walked past all the offices where his colleagues used both their physical and mental extra abilities to solve crimes and ferret out details the regular forces couldn’t. Or wouldn’t in some cases. A lot of the old timers on the regular force felt it was up to the freaks to handle their own problems.

He stopped by the reception desk to see if there were any messages. It was manned by a smart ass kid Lew only ever knew as Loudmouth.

“Loudmouth, anything exciting today?” he asked.

Loudmouth shook his head without looking up from his computer. “Typical day for the Spook Squad; Blithe and Morgan are flying around rescuing kittens and kids. Toye’s making a toaster tap dance for a fundraiser. De L’Eau’s acting like the Tower of Babel for the Feds. Keller’s making some Vice goon by the name of Dike shit his pants with Internal Affairs. You know, typical.”

Lew smirked. “Thanks, Loudmouth.”

“No problem,” he said, going back to his computer screen.

 

Lew always felt like a jackass when it came to sharing his power with new people. Strength, rapid healing, and resistance to disease just didn’t have the same ring to it as flying and shooting lasers from your eyes. Hell, even Runner’s ability to be superfast at everything seemed better than Lew’s ability to age really slowly. The one thing he had going for him, really, was the longer than average lifespan. Runner always said one of these days he was going to chart Lew’s family history and see if he was descended from Methuselah

“Oh, hey, Juergens, I forgot,” Loudmouth said.

“What?” Lew asked.

“You got a visitor. That creepy Cassandra Dude is back again.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“Can you tell him to get a new coat, for Christ’s sake, that thing’s older than you.”

“Take it up with Vera, she’s dating the man.”

That revelation was enough to both shut Loudmouth up and make him look up from his screen.

Lew laughed and hurried to his desk.

Certain classification groups existed among those with super powers. Since there were a measurable number of people with similar abilities, they classified by the government in the annual census. Robert Leckie was one such a person. He was a Cassandra, a prophet that no one ever believed until it was too late. Logic would state that after the first fifty times people would listen to him, but they always came to him after the crimes were committed.

He’d also spent the past five years lobbying for a name change of the Cassandras, but that went the same way as his initial predictions.

Even though Lew knew Leckie’s predictions would eventually be realized as truth, he never did believe him the first time. It pissed Leckie the fuck off, but there was nothing to be done about it. It wasn’t a personal thing, it was just the way of Leckie’s power.

Lew tried not to smirk when he saw Bob waiting at his desk, but he knew he failed when Leckie held up his middle finger.

“Bob, always good to see you.”

“There’s a special level of Hell for liars,” Bob replied. “Where’s the newbie Stone told me about?”

“Runner’s giving Gibson the morgue tour,” he said as he sat down.

“Seen one newbie morgue tour, seen them all?”

“They’re all different, it’s usually a good measure of what kind of officer you’re going to get, but hell, I can’t take care of this place forever.”

Leckie laughed. “From my research for the city’s historical society, I find that to be a false statement, but I’ll let you keep your delusions.”

“Thank you, Bob,” he said.

“I know I’m wasting my breath telling you the vision I had last night, but I figured I might as well plant the seed in your mind.”

Lew waved his hand. “Give it a go, I’m just going to hear white noise any way.”

“Good to know my migraine inducing visions are nothing more than a buzzing to you.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Lew said, “and if you think you have it bad, at least you can touch people. Hell, Gene Sledge can barely go outside without getting overwhelmed.”

“Funny you should mention Sledge, he’s involved in this.”

“A Cassandra dreaming about a Sybil? There’s something incestuous about that.”

“It’s not like I ask for these things,” Leckie said, “you think I like dreaming about your ugly mug each night.”

“I know you love it.”

Bob laughed again, his crooked smile spread across his face.

“Look, I’m not going to give you the word and verse as it came to me, but basically, you’re going to start looking for one thing and you’ll find another. It all ties back to Sledge, he didn’t do anything to cause it, he just happens to be a bystander and sort of the center of all this happening around him. A big change is coming for you Lew, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Bob, I’ve been living the same life for more decades than you’ve been on this earth.”

“Time for a change then, wouldn’t you say?” Leckie asked.

 ************

Stone was one of the few people who always went by his real last name. Most days people preferred their extra sensory name over their surname, but Stone never picked a special moniker. Some people called him Double Mint, since he chewed gum like an OCD quitting smoker, but hell, if Lew had the nose of a friggin’ bloodhound and taste buds which allowed him to trace emotions, he’d be chewing gum like crazy too.

“What’s up?” he asked, finding Stone standing over his desk.

“We got a problem down in Banika Territory.”

“What’s _Banika Territory_?” Gibson asked.

“Please tell me the kid is joking,” Toye said from his desk.

“So I won’t pass the exam to be on Vice or Gang Squads, sue me,” Gibson said.

“Seriously, Toye, stop busting the kid’s balls,” Stone said. “Banika Territory, down near the old psychiatric ward. They take care of their own down there, we don’t bother them.”

“Then why are we doing it now?” Gibson asked.

“Because Ack-Ack came to us,” Stone said.

“Who?” Gibson asked.

“Ack-Ack Haldane,” Toye said, emerging from his corner like a biting sarcastic cloud of doom. “Don’t tell me the kid doesn’t know who Ack-Ack Haldane is.”

“ _Everybody_ knows Ack-Ack,” Runner said.

Lew took pity on the kid, he was only a baby after all. “Gibson, Ack-Ack Haldane is a former football star. He would’ve gone pro but he protested the NFL’s regulations against freaks like us. He said he would play in an all-inclusive league or none at all.”

“And now he runs a gang?” Gibson asked. He quickly ducked the paper ball De L’Eau threw at his head.

“He runs a community center,” Stone explained, “he just happens to keep the local kids down there in line. They see him as a higher power and more respected force than anyone in this bullpen. Except maybe Chuckler.”

“Hey,” Lew protested.

“Juergens, you’re older than half the high schools in this city,” Morgan said.

“I think that says more about the education here than my age,” Lew said.

“Anyway,” Stone said, “Haldane says he’s hearing some grumblings from the local kids. Runner, Chuckler, go down there, try to feel out anything that seems wrong. Take Sledge with you, you’ll need a Reader.”

“You think Sledge will go?” Runner asked.

“He will if you mention Haldane,” Stone said.

De L’Eau shook his head. “I would not want to drag Eugene Sledge out during the day time.”

“For Banika territory, it’s worse at night,” Lew said, “he’ll prefer the daytime, it’s damn near deserted out there now.”

“Still,” De L’Eau said, “that is one Reader I never like to bother.”

Lew nodded. He could only agree. Dragging out a Reader like Sledge was like pulling the football away from Charlie Brown. It had to be done, but still made everyone feel like they kicked a puppy.

 ************

There were two different types of Readers. There were the Cassandras like Leckie, too wrapped up in their own heads to read someone else’s. And then there were Sibyls; the type who were too wrapped up in other people’s minds to keep much of their own sanity. It sent most of the Sibyls underground. Where the hell else were you supposed to go when every person, place, and thing spoke to you?

Lew didn’t like to bother Sledge if he didn’t have to, but hell, they _did_ need a Reader for this one if something was bothering Haldane so much he went to the cops.

Sledge lived in an old converted bar on the corner of Mulberry and Vine. His home was a nice place, full of sketchbooks and computers. Anything that allowed Sledge to stay connected to the world with minimal actual human contact. Lew didn’t bother knocking; Sledge knew they were coming.

He was waiting for them, dark glasses over his eyes, and a bottle of Excedrin already open.

“Sorry, Gene,” Lew said.

“You always greet me with apologies,” Sledge said, “next time, bring a pizza.”

“You’d throw it up anyway.”

“It’s still a nice gesture,” Sledge said. He slid off his stool and gathered his gloves. Sledge took all sorts of precaution to avoid human contact. “So, Banika.”

“Haldane got spooked.”

“Andrew Haldane doesn’t get spooked.”

“Then he’s concerned,” Runner said, “he came to Stone, said something’s going down near the old hospital.”

“Prison,” Sledge said, “that place was like a prison, years ago. You always have the option to leave a hospital. That place buried you on the grounds.”

“Aren’t you a cheery little fucker,” Runner said.

“I’m sorry if I don’t waste my energy by using pretty words. They don’t change the reality of what went on there. Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk into a place like that where people suffered by the hundreds for decades? To walk into a wall of that much concentrated emotional pain?” Sledge asked.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say it sucks.”

Sledge shook his head. “Your partners keep getting more entertaining as the years go on, Juergens,” he said.

Lew shrugged in response.

Sledge took a deep breath and swallowed three pills dry. “I’m ready,” he said.

Runner opened the door and Lew took up the rear guard as they escorted Sledge outside.

Sledge smiled when he saw the car.

“You brought your own car, Lew, thanks. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Always nice to surprise the Reader, and I figure if I used one of the squad cars we’d just have to take you right to the hospital anyway. Kind of defeats the purpose,” Lew said.

“It’s appreciated,” Sledge answered.

Sledge was an odd sort, even without all the mindfuck that came with being a Sibyl. He had the sort of manners that went out of fashion for young men at least thirty years ago. It probably had something to do with his boy-in-the-bubble upbringing. The only childhood friend Sledge ever mentioned was Sid Phillips, now a renowned psychologist with extraordinary human clients.

They ran into little traffic on the way to Haldane’s community center. It was one of the few bright, shining beacons of Banika territory, which was, predominately, a semi-gang land run by Doc Grant and his followers. Banika was a freak-friendly community, but they were more separatist in ideals than willing to play the role of an average citizen. Still, they paid their taxes and stayed under the radar, taking care of their own problems.

For Old Doc Grant and his kids to say something to Haldane, that meant shit was brewing and none of it could be good.

“Hillbilly’s inside,” Sledge said.

“Who is Hillbilly?” Runner asked.

“Hillbilly Jones. He’s a friend of Haldane’s. Bit of a drifter. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

“And he’s a what?” Runner asked.

“A human being,” Sledge replied.

“No one who lives in this area is _just_ a human being,” Runner said.

Sledge shrugged. “Fair point, but I would argue that Ack-Ack himself is your plain, old, ordinary human being.”

“He’s an exception,” Runner said, “so, what’s Hillbilly? And who goes by the name Hillbilly?”

“We can’t all be named Wilbur,” Sledge said.

“Kiss my ass, Sledge,” Runner said.

A genuine smile crossed Sledge’s face before he carefully slid out of the car. The boy wasn’t physically fragile, but his mental state made it hard not to be overly protective of him.

Though Sledge could probably wipe all their minds clean if he really tried.

“You hear that?” Sledge asked as Runner got out of the car.

“The train?” Runner asked.

“Listen,” Sledge said, and gestured to the open windows of the community center.

The sound of a mandolin drifted out, a fast, complicated playing that only someone with talent and skill could manage to pull off.

“So, his superpower is really fast fingers?” Runner asked.

“Nothing so mundane,” Sledge said.

Lew held the door open for both of them, waving them in alongside the dust mites and stray smell of chalk and locker rooms that always came with community centers. It was somewhere between a typical classroom smell and a laundromat.

The first floor held the indoor basketball court, the sound of squeaking sneakers and trash talk filling the hall. The second floor held the classrooms, where kids took after school lessons, messed around on old computers, got a decent meal at the lounge, and used the community library. The top floor was Haldane’s office and the music and art rooms. They all stopped to take in Hillbilly’s lesson, watching as a young girl played the piano, levitating over the bench, while another boy pounded the cymbals with his blinking eyes.

Hillbilly looked up as they approached and nodded. He didn’t stop his playing, music flowing out of him as effortlessly as breathing.

“So, what’s his deal?” Runner asked.

“It’s complicated,” Andrew Haldane said. He shook their hands, being extra careful not to make skin-to-skin contact with Sledge. “Eddie is the most complicated simple man you’ll ever meet.”

“That makes no sense,” Runner said.

“It will in time,” Sledge replied.

“Thank you for coming down,” Haldane said, “let’s take this to my office. I don’t want the kids to hear.”

Haldane pulled a folding chair out of the corner for Sledge, and gestured for Runner and Lew to take the other seats. He passed all three of them manila folders before leaning against his desk.

“Pretty girl,” Runner said as he opened his folder.

“Stella Karamanlis, Doc Grant’s receptionist. Or was until two days ago when she didn’t show up for work,” Haldane said, “her parents went to Grant, and his kids are working on it, but they also came to me.”

“Could she have just done a walk away?” Lew asked.

“No,” Sledge answered before Haldane could. His eyes were closed, his mind really no longer in the room. “She’s a good daughter, devoted to her parents. She’s a bridge, one foot on our side and one foot on the other.”

“How long has she been with Doc Grant?” Lew asked.

“Four years,” Haldane said.

“And she’s been in Banika about that long,” Lew guessed.

“More like ten years,” Haldane said, “she used to be a waitress down at the Crab Shack near the docks.”

Runner whistled. “Girl must have tough skin to survive that hell hole,” he said.

“She’s Grant’s receptionist, so she must know more than a little bit about the running of his syndicate. And all the waitresses I know have ears like hawks. Can we talk to her parents?” Lew asked.

“Lew, they’ll barely talk to me, they sure as hell won’t talk to the cops,” Haldane said. “You know that bullshit they pulled five years ago with all the _special_ immigrants? No matter if they were here legally, that movement under Senator Fernando tried to get them out.”

Lew felt his lips twist with disgust. He didn’t like thinking about Senator Fernando’s anti-everything, Pure American movement. It brought back far too many decades of bad memories.

“Do you have any solid leads about who would abduct her? Most criminals in this area know not to mess with Doc Grant, or hell, even the younger Grant,” Lew said.

“We’ve got nothing,” Haldane admitted, bitterness coloring his words. “I’ve tried, Eddie’s tried. We even bothered Old Elmo to see if he could find something. It’s like she disappeared into thin air and that just doesn’t happen. There’s always a trace.”

“Do you have anything of hers from that night?” Sledge asked.

“Eugene,” Haldane said, “no.”

“We all know right now I’m your best option, so let’s get this over with. The sooner I do this, the sooner I can go to the hospital and then get on with my life.”

Haldane nodded, his expression sad but resigned. He pulled a plastic tote bin from behind his desk and waited.

Sledge took two deep breaths before he peeled off his gloves, revealing his pale white hands. He opened his eyes and nodded.

Haldane took off the top of the bin and carefully brought it over.

Sledge reached in and took up the purse inside, instantly shaking before settling into some sort of haze.

It was always hard to watch this, to stand back and let the Readers like Sledge do this; where the only thing they was ensure they didn’t hurt themselves. There was no stopping it, intervening only caused more injury, and it hurt like hell to witness it.

Lew didn’t even want to imagine what it felt like.

Sledge came back to their time with a deep, sucking breath. He dropped the purse into the bin with trembling hands and launched himself over to the nearest trash can to throw up. Lew grabbed a tissue from Haldane’s desk to pick up Sledge’s gloves and carry them over to him. He nodded to Haldane as he broke out a fresh washcloth and water bottle for Sledge.

Gene looked up at him through the wet, red bangs that plastered his forehead with haunted eyes. He took his gloves with a grateful nod before taking the water and the washcloth.

“Anything of worth?” Runner asked, his voice rough.

Gene nodded. “Someone is manipulating with memories. There’s a distinct scent of tampering on that purse.”

“Who has the power to do that?” Runner asked.

“Outside of the Chief of Police, I don’t know,” Lew said. He cursed. Stone was just going to love this case.

“Anything else?” Haldane asked.

“I suggest you re-canvas the area where she disappeared. You might be able to find an actual eye witness. Someone does not want Ms. Karamanlis found and until you figure out who, I have a feeling any physical item involved with her will be tampered.” Sledge gave them a watery smile. “It looks like you’re going to have to go back to your old school detective work.”

Runner closed his folder with a flourish. “Stone’s just going to fucking love this one.”

 ************

Snafu Shelton was a like a cottonmouth snake. He stood his ground against his aggressors, bared his fangs and didn’t give a shit about diplomacy or propriety. Come across his territory and he’d fuck with you.

Lew kind of loved the pain in the ass.

Shelton held down a street corner on the borders of Banika. Sometimes he ran a gambling hall, others an escort service. Shelton had no qualms about doing what was needed in order to survive. Even though he took his damn sweet time getting things done, it wasn’t because he was lazy or didn’t understand. Shelton didn’t see the world like most people. He wasn’t a Reader, not really, but he could look at the world and see the vast connections between everyone, the cause and effect threads. The only thing Shelton was consistent at predicting was time of death, which made him an Atropos in terms of designation. What they didn’t note in the records was his mild competency in mind control, and his non-super power ability to read people’s body language as plainly as if they were giving a soliloquy.

If Shelton didn’t hate the establishment so much, if he didn’t grow up with a distrust of all government functions, Lew would have seriously tried to get him on the force. As it was, he was a Confidential Informant. And one who just happened to work where Stella Karamanlis disappeared.

“Shelton,” Runner said as they exited the squad car. “What do you have to share with the class today?”

Shelton stared down Runner. They weren’t the best acquaintances, something to do with Runner’s need to always be on the go and Shelton’s stubborn nature of staying still. It would be entertaining if Lew didn’t have to work with both of them.

“You brought the rookie,” Shelton said, turning to Lew. “I thought you didn’t like bringing the fresh meat all the way down here. Like to keep them nice and safe near your slick and clean buildings downtown.”

“Shelton, this isn’t my first time down here,” Runner said.

“But you’re just going to go further down,” Shelton said. He riffled through his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Death stick for the Dead Man?” he said as he offered one to Runner.

“That’s not funny,” Runner said.

“We all going to die some time, Detective Conley,” Snafu said, “even Old Man Juergens there. We all going to waste away some day.”

“As pleasant as it is always is to shoot the shit with you, Shelton,” Lew said, “we need some info.”

“I didn’t think you came down this way to see my new home,” Shelton said with his arms stretched out. “You talking about that abduction that’s got Haldane spooked. The girl.”

“Stella Karamanlis,” Lew said.

“Her parents are nice folks,” Shelton said, “always gave food and blankets out to those who needed it. They don’t need their girl gone, but I don’t know about her. Ain’t seen her line cut yet. There’s the boy though.”

“What boy?” Lew asked.

“Rich boy,” Shelton said, as his eyes went hazy. “Smart. Shouldn’t be in this city or on this side of town but is, trying to find someone. An old friend. Friend of friend. Dark hair, eyes, but he’s got a brain. Never meant to wander here but needed to find something. Looking for a sledgehammer. But his line got cut.” Shelton blinked and fumbled for a cigarette, hands shaking with adrenaline as the vision ended.

“Where did his line get cut,” Lew asked, voice soft and cautious.

“Down by the old armory,” Shelton muttered through the cigarette in his mouth. “We done now?”

“Yeah, Shelton, we’re done,” Runner said. He held out a $20 bill. “Go get a cup of soup or something, why don’t you.”

“Thanks Conley,” Shelton said, palming the bill and walking off. “You’re going to have to talk to the cats,” he yelled back at them.

Runner watched him turn down the street before asking Lew. “What the hell does that mean?”

Lew shrugged and got back into the car. He didn’t want to let Runner know how much this whole case was setting him on edge. But when Haldane, Sledge, and Shelton were spooked, not to mention Banika Syndicate willing to work with the cops? Hell, end of the world didn’t even begin to cover it.

“We’re going to the morgue?” Runner asked.

“I figure we’d just call,” Lew said. He held out his phone to Runner.

“And I’m calling why?”

“You dial the numbers quicker and talk faster,” Lew said.

Runner rolled his eyes, accepting the phone as he flipped out his notepad. He made the call and began taking notes at a dizzying rate. Lew couldn’t even follow his fingers for too long without getting sick.

He let Runner’s voice lull him into a nap as he chatted with Hamm, the Coroner’s Assistant, and woke up when Runner flicked his ear.

“Wake up, old man.”

“Quiet, grasshopper, I’m thinking.”

“I didn’t know contemplation came with snoring. It’s kind of like that time you told Vera you were working on office mediation, even if it came with drool.”

Lew held up his middle finger. “What’d you find out, Rookie?”

Runner stuck his tongue out in response but then flipped through his notes. “Doc Stern said there was only one body found in and around Banika territory this past week. A young out-of-towner by the name of Rob Oswalt. He was found in the alley in front of the old armory building. They don’t know what killed him yet. The only witnesses they can find are of the feline nature. Like a cat can be a friggin’ witness.”

Lew got out of the car and checked the trunk.

“What the hell are you doing?” Runner asked.

Lew held up two cat cages in triumph. “We’re going witness procuring.”

“So, you’re telling me we have to capture these cats and take them to somebody who will, what, scan their fur for signs?” Runner asked.

“Not exactly,” Lew said as he got back in the car and drove them toward the old armory. “We’ll take them to see Dr. Smith. I better call him and set up an appointment.” He stopped the car with a screech and grabbed his phone from Runner’s hands. “Why don’t you get at least two of those cats,” he said, gesturing to the alley.

“Don’t we have Animal Control for this?”

“I don’t want the cats put on death row just because we need them as witnesses.”

“And why do I have to do this?”

“Because you’re the one with super speed.”

“And not because you have a dislike of all things feline.”

“My grandmother was a very suspicious woman, okay? She came from a time when they thought cats caused plague. That emotional trauma stays with you. Now, off you go, I’ve got to call the revered Dr. Smith.” Lew shooed him away with his hands.

“What can he talk to the animals?” Runner asked.

Lew laughed. “Now, that would just be crazy to think, wouldn’t it?”

Runner rolled his eyes but got the cat carriers out of the trunk.

Lew pulled out his cell and dialed Dr. Bill Smith, also known as Hoosier for his undying love of his alma mater.

“Pig,” Hoosier greeted him.

“Ass,” Lew replied, “I need your special brand of Animal Whispering.”

“Stop watching National Geographic Channel.”

“Stop dictating my viewing schedule. I’ve got some cats who may have witnessed a murder.”

“The Cat Who Knew Too Much?”

“Wow, you and my mother could compare reading choices.”

“How does it feel to know a fictional feline has a better solved case rate than you?”

“At least my goldfish doesn’t tell me to murder people.”

“At least my parakeet is still alive.”

“Oh, that’s a low blow.”

Hoosier laughed. “Just bring the cats in, use the backdoor.”

“I’m bringing Runner.”

“Of course you are,” Hoosier said, the words full with his special brand of mocking.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Hoosier sighed. “He’s like your little pet, a puppy wagging his tail and looking for affection and approval from his master. He follows you everywhere.”

“He’s my partner.”

“Really, and does that extend to off-duty hours because Vera told me she saw you two at _The Laughing Gator_ getting smashed. Well, as smashed as _you_ can get.”

“Vera’s a liar.”

“By her very nature you know she has to tell the truth.”

“Only when asked directly. It was an after-shift drink, nothing more. I don’t sleep with the people I work with, especially with our age difference.”

“Leckie says you two won’t be working together for long.”

“Leckie’s full of bullshit.”

“No disagreement there. So, see you in an hour?”

Lew looked up to see Runner approaching with the two carriers. “More like twenty.”

“Well, damn,” Hoosier said, “I best go put on my nice dress and heels.”

“Don’t forget the pearls.”

“You don’t warrant my jewels, Juergens.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Hoosier,” he said and hung up the phone.

“Hoosier?” Runner asked.

“Dr. Smith. He’s an Indiana fan.”

Lew waited for Runner to get into the car and secure the cats, before driving them through the twisting, turning streets. Unlike downtown, which was based off a grid plan, here the streets popped up over old cow pastures and dirt tracks, leading to a traffic pattern which made a newcomers panic.

Of all the questions surrounding the murder of Oswalt, no one wondered how the poor kid got lost. Banika territory was not a place for outsiders.

“So this Dr. Smith is a Cat Whisperer?” Runner asked.

“Something like that,” Lew said, “he’s not limited to just cats or dogs, think more along the lines of Dr. Doolittle.”

“That’s a little unbelievable.”

“You’re sitting next to a man born in the 1880s.”

Runner shuddered. “I did not need you to remind me of that. You barely look legal.”

“You’re the one with super speed.”

“Yet I age normally.”

“For now,” Lew said.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“You shall learn, little grasshopper.”

Lew pulled up in front of the vet clinic. “We’re here,” he announced.

Hoosier stood at the back door.

“Go ahead,” Hoosier said, “get out all your Lassie and Dr. Doolittle jokes.”

“I’ve only got one question,” Runner said.

“Yeah?” Hoosier asked.

“Do your woodland friends help construct your wardrobe or did you actually pay money for that shirt.”

“Oh, wait, I got something for you,” Hoosier said and held up his middle finger in response.

“I like him,” Runner said.

Lew shook his head. There was a reason why he waited so long to introduce the two.

“Dead body, missing girl. Need I keep going on about why we shouldn’t be wasting time by trading pleasantries.”

“Shit, Chuckler, I didn’t think you even know how to say a word like _pleasantries_ ,” Runner said.

“You need to bring him around more often,” Hoosier said, gesturing them into the building.

A few of the volunteers and technicians were still milling about. Hoosier’s clinic was the only one that stayed open 24 hours a day. Emergencies didn’t work on a 9 to 5 schedule, he always said, and he wouldn’t have an animal die because of human’s office hours.

Hoosier’s office was a mish-mash of sports memorabilia, animal medical charts, and research books. His dog, Lilly, barely gave them a glance as they entered.

“Should we do this here?” Runner asked.

“Stray cats will probably be more freaked out by an exam room than here,” Hoosier said. He pulled out a tray of tools. “Plus, those two are used to humans. They get fed by the restaurant workers on a pretty regular basis.”

“How the hell can you know that?” Runner asked, carefully putting the cat carriers down on the one clear table.

“What do you think they’re yapping about?” Hoosier asked.

“I though all that meowing meant they were cursing me out,” Runner admitted.

Lew patted his shoulder. “Rest assured, they are.”

“These are alley cats,” Hoosier explained, “not completely feral. They know humans leave out some of the best food. Even if we’re crappy hunters.”

Lew took the seat behind Hoosier’s desk and propped his feet up while Runner watched Hoosier go to work.

“How is this done?” he asked Lew.

“I don’t know the technical description, but it’s kind of like animal mind reading. Hoosier’s done this his whole life. He’ll do an examination while getting all the information he needs. Once he’s done he’ll give them a round of antibiotics and shots as well, all the while figuring out where they’ve been. His brainwaves just link up with theirs.”

“That’s a little crazy,” Runner said, “that said, I am still scarred from the demonstration of your powers.”

Lew smirked. “Never seen a man stick a knife through his hand before?”

“It turns my stomach, seeing your cells reform that quickly,” Runner said.

Lew shrugged. “Your body does something similar, on the inside at least. They amount of abuse you put it through with your speed, god knows what your muscles and tendons would look like if they didn’t repair themselves.”

Runner shifted. “You know, I never really studied the biology and body chemistry of all this for a reason. I don’t think I really want to know just how different I am. It’s enough to know I just am.”

Lew nodded. “You’re not the only one who feels that way. I’ve had far too many years and questions. And hell, when the science community routinely asks for your cells as they try to make a Fountain of Youth in a lab, you figure you might as well try and puzzle out just what they want with you.”

Runner was about to ask him a question when Hoosier interrupted him.

“Granted, the cats can’t tell you the motive, but they said Oswalt was dropped into the alley, and he was still breathing. They didn’t like the smell of the human who did it. It reminded them of a snake.”

“Shelton?” Runner asked.

Lew laughed. “As if Snafu Shelton would ever haul a body anywhere.”

Hoosier laughed. “Snafu doesn’t get out of bed for less than $2,000, and that’s what you have to pay to get him to leave.”

Runner gaped as Hoosier laughed.

“So innocent and virginal,” Hoosier said. He scooped up the two cats. “I’m going to take care of these two. You know the way out.”

“Thanks, Hoosier,” Lew called after him.

“So, what do we do now?” Runner asked.

Lew checked his watch. It was almost midnight. “I take you home and we start over tomorrow.”

 ************

Lew was used to working on less than five hours of sleep, Runner not so much. The amount of energy he used with his powers meant he required a lot of rest and even more food.

It was only eight, and Runner had already finished some twelve cups of coffee.

“Please stop before you have a heart attack,” Vera said. She turned to Lew. “Chuckler, take better care of your partner.”

Lew shrugged. “I told him to come in later, but he’s stubborn as hell.”

“You can’t keep up with him, Runner, don’t even try,” Toye said.

Runner simply glared at them all over the rim of his coffee cup.

Everything was silent for another hour or two. The bullpen filled with nothing but the sounds of typical office work, minus one or two drugged out arrestees. It was turning out to be a nice morning until the door to Stone’s office jerked open.

“Juergens, Conley, my office. Now,” Stone ordered.

Lew exchanged a look with Runner and gestured for him to follow.

“What’s up, boss man?” Lew asked.

Stone ripped open a pack of gum and shoved two pieces in his mouth.

“Explain to me how I ask you to investigate the disappearance of a missing woman and instead you’re looking into the murder of a young man.”

“We think they’re connected,” Runner offered.

“How?” Stone asked as he began to pace. “How are Rob Oswalt, a John Hopkins Med Student and Stella Karamanlis, a receptionist for Doc Grant connected, besides incidents in Banika territory. An area of the city where Karamanlis lived and Oswalt wandered into. Please, tell me so I can explain to the Chief of Police, so she can explain to Mr. and Mrs. Karamanlis.”

“I thought Haldane said they wouldn’t go to the police,” Runner said to Lew.

Lew shrugged. “Lena’s not exactly a normal cop.” He turned to Stone. “Lena giving you hell?” he asked, “you could just ask me to go to talk to her.”

“You’re buddies with the Chief of Police?” Runner asked.

“Lena and I go way back,” Lew said.

“Chief of Police Riggi is the only person in this metro area who is older than Chuckler,” Stone said.

“That we know of,” Lew clarified.

“So she has the super healing ability too?” Runner asked.

“Among other things,” Stone said, “don’t ever try to pull something over on Riggi. She’ll have you by the balls before you can even blink.”

Runner shifted in his chair. “I’m sure I could get out of the way fast enough.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Stone and Lew said in unison.

“She’s that fast?”

“She’ll freeze you in place,” Stone said, “Riggi can control time within about a fifteen minute frame. She uses it rarely, but she won’t hesitate if you piss her off.”

“Whatever caused Stella’s disappearance, it may have something to do with Oswalt’s death,” Lew said, turning the conversation back on topic. “Both have something unnatural around them, even for us. Most humans don’t remind cats of snakes.”

“So?” Stone asked.

“Cats recognize snakes as predators. It’s why they hiss and put their ears back. They rarely, if ever, see humans as predators. If Hoosier said the cats were reminded of snakes, that’s significant. Sledge said anything involving Stella’s abduction was tampered with on the level that a Sibyl like him can’t figure it out. Shelton didn’t even see her death, and even if he did, I don’t think he’d see the real one. We’re dealing with some real shit here, Stone. We’re talking about someone who can actively manipulate memories, time, and even human trace essence.” Lew sat back. “You can tell Lena that I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to be a simple one.”

Stone sat back in his chair. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, “you both still stink of that alley and there’s something wrong there. I can’t quite figure out the taste or scent yet, but it’s just _off_.”

“So, what do you want to do?” Runner asked.

Stone pulled out his gun and three packs of gum.

“We’re going on a field trip, boys.”


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

They called it the Awakening, when a person came into their talent for the first time. Some had it from birth; some came into it quietly, powers growing and expanding gradually as the mind and body grew. Others had a flat-out baptism by fire (and in the case of fire-tamers that was indeed, a true statement). Depending on the power and degree of the Awakening, both the mind and body could be broken.

When your Awakening was that bad, you did anything to find a cure for it. You’d make a deal with all the devils in the world if it just meant that the pain and the noise would stop.

Lew didn’t hold it against the young kid they stumbled across in the alley. He’d been shot by worst people in a better state of mind. And it was clear to anyone that someone else was pulling the kid’s strings.

Lew wasn’t quite so forgiving when the third and fourth shots went burning through his body.

“I’m sorry,” the kid mumbled, his blond hair dirty and scraggly under his worn green hat. “I have to, he said so.” The kid fired off one more round before turning and climbing up the brick wall.

Lew couldn’t help the curse that came out as a bullet hit bone before passing through his body. The bone was already reknitting and that hurt even more than the fucking bullet.

Lew met Runner’s widened eyes. He really didn’t have a time to give him a lecture about job hazards and right now, it was all Lew could do not to puke all over him.

“Runner, go!” Stone ordered, pointing up to the the building tops.

Lew hadn’t even blinked before Runner was gone. He took Stone’s offered hand.

“How you feeling?”

“Already healing,” Lew said. It was a sickly feeling whenever his cells did the rapid reformation. The side effects of being something like a real life Stretch Armstrong.

“Worst Field Trip Ever?” Stone asked, as he held out a stick of gum.

Lew gladly took it to get the taste of bile out of his throat. “At least now we know that whomever is doing this has some serious mind control power. And is probably weaker during the daylight, since that kid was able to apologize.

“ _He said so_ ,” Stone repeated in a perfect mimicry of the kid’s voice.

Lew shook his head. “I hate it when you do that.”

“You should hear my cousin Luz.”

“Runner’s not going to catch him,” Lew said, “he’s not a wall climber.”

“He’s not,” Stone admitted, “but we both know he needed to get out of here. You need to handle that, Lew.”

“I know,” Lew said.

“You can’t cross that line, not with your partner. He’s young. Too young.”

“I know,” Lew repeated, “and I won’t.”

Stone cocked his head and took a deep breath. “He’s on his way back. You all healed?”

Lew nodded. “Mostly, my body’s still going through the fight-or-flight, but they were all through and throughs.”

“We’ll give the bullets to Leyden, see what he and his team can find.”

“This is too big for us, isn’t it?” Lew asked.

Stone sighed and toed a crack in the street. “I think we’re going to have to call in the Feds. We’re dealing with some heavy shit and we have to remember our responsibility over our pride.” Stone ran a hand through his hair. “I hate it when this shit unravels so fast. I’m going to go see Lena, ask her the best way to go about all this. I’ll see you two back at the precinct?”

“Yeah, I’m going to stop by the hospital first, just in case. That internal bleeding last time gave me indigestion for two weeks.”

Stone got in his own car, driving away at a steady speed that Lew found admirable for all they’d just been through.

Runner came back into the alley, gulping breaths and sweating. “I lost him,” he wheezed out.

Lew clapped his shoulder. “You’re not a wall climber, it’s okay. We had to at least try.”

“He went down near the docks, I lost him in the shipyard,” Runner said.

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone decided to run a syndicate out of a ship as opposed to a building. Water confuses signals,” Lew said as he gestured to the car. “Let’s go.”

Runner didn’t immediately follow. He had a pinched look on his face, a hesitation that wouldn’t be allowed to stay if he wanted to continue with this job.

“You with me on this, Will?” he asked.

Runner studied him for a long time, tracing over the already healing wounds, before meeting his eyes.

“Always,” Runner said.

 **********

Bill Leyden ran the Special Interests’ Crime Lab out of the basement of an old bank building. No one ever guessed what went on below ground.

“Why didn’t we go here on the tour?” Gibson asked Runner from his place in the back seat.

“Because we don’t bother the crime lab unless we absolutely have to,” Lew answered. He tried to find the best way to describe Bill. “Leyden’s a unique personality,” he finally said.

“What does that mean?” Gibson asked.

“Some people think he’s an asshole,” Runner said. He shrugged. “I like the guy.”

“Of course you do, you’re a New Yorker like him,” Lew said.

“I am not,” Runner scoffed, “I’m from Buffalo, he’s from Brooklyn, completely different worlds.”

“Is this it?” Gibson asked as Lew pulled into the parking lot. He looked out through the window with a dubious expression. “It looks like it should be condemned.”

“All the best government buildings are non-descript business parks or the latest in hobo hotel chic. It’s been that way since, hell, I was your age, Gibson,” Lew explained.

“That was back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth,” Runner said.

Lew glared at him as they exited the car. “Need I remind you I once worked with Nikola Tesla?”

“The way Leckie tells it, you did more than _work_ with Tesla,” Runner said, punching in the key code to open the building.

Lew scoffed. “ He was thirty years my senior. The man taught me to play billiards, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Runner said.

“Do I get to know that code?” Gibson asked.

“No,” Runner and Lew replied in unison.

They showed their badges to the guard posted at the desk. The guard as the desk was a Sibyl and knew who they were before they even left the car, but you could never be too sure.

“You think Leyden’s found anything of worth?” Runner asked as they entered the old elevator.

“Leyden always finds something,” Lew admitted. He pulled down the wooden grate and slapped his hand against the wall. “He’s an asshole but he knows how to do his job. Granted, with the way this case is going if he found something it’s probably already been tampered with or is useless.”

He tried not to laugh as Gibson quickly braced himself after the jolt of movement. The building had one of the original elevators ever installed in the city and at this point, could only be moved by mental power.

“Is this safe?” Gibson asked.

“It’s an additional level of security,” Lew explained. “If Leyden doesn’t want us down there, Stanley won’t let us in.”

“How?” Gibson asked.

“He has a thing for metal,” Runner said. He braced himself against a corner. “Get ready for the drop,” he warned.

“What dro--,” Gibson stopped, throwing a hand out to keep from falling. “Never mind.”

“Don’t worry, Gibson, you won’t be a the new kid forever,” Lew reminded him. “Stanley,” he said by way of greeting.

“Detectives,” Stanley said, “Leyden’s ready for you in the evidence room.”

“Gibson, a word of warning. It’s easy to mistake Bill Leyden’s talent as being short-tempered and foul mouthed, but he has eyesight that can see at the microscopic level,” Lew said.

“You’d act like a jackass too if your talents were in demand by two different crime labs on a constant basis,” Runner said.

“Conley, I didn’t know you cared,” Leyden said. He was dressed in the typical crime lab jacket and his specially designed goggles. “But I’ve got to thank you for always bringing me the most interesting bullshit I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m going to hazard I guess that you found something but it’s clearly been tampered with,” Lew said.

“I’d blame chain of evidence mishaps, but Stone brought these down himself,” Leyden said. He shook his head. “Sorry, boys, I think you’re screwed on this one.”

“What’s wrong?” Gibson asked.

Leyden studied him with a leer. “New meat.”

“Don’t sacrifice the lamb yet,” Lew said. He gestured to the samples on display. “Explain the problem first.”

“No trace of human essence. No trace evidence period, other than what you’d expect on bullets and shell casings found in a back alley. But we brought in a Reader and even they couldn’t find something. The only thing of interest is that Stone, after he spit out his pack of _Juicy Fruit_ , smelled mithra.”

“The stuff they brought Jesus?” Gibson asked.

“That’s myrrh, jackass,” Leyden said. He shook his head in disgust. “You’re on the squad and you don’t know what mithra is? Christ, the academy is lowering its standards these days.”

“There’s a reason he’s not on Vice,” Runner said.

“Mithra’s a drug used by a lot of people like us, especially those living underground. Think of it like the ultimate Upper. A lot of users think it brings clarity as well, but like any drug, once you build up tolerance, you have to take more. Next thing you know you’re taking a dive off the Mile High Monument and you don’t have the ability to fly,” Lew said.

“Great imagery,” Gibson said, “ but I’ve never heard of it.”

“Most freaks stick with Somnus for sleep or Mara to help with visions. Mithra’s like prescription pills, it’s done by the suburbanites and people who don’t want to admit they’re drug addicts,” Runner said.

“Don’t feel too bad, kid,” Leyden said, “Wilbur here didn’t know an Atropos from a Cassandra when he started here.”

Lew looked over the map pinned up by the door. “I take it this isn’t your only case involving mithra lately?”

“Nah,” Leyden said. “All those red dots are where Vice has found dealers. We’ve had a shit ton of it come through lately.”

“Which means there’s no way to tell if Stone actually smelled it off the bullets or from in here,” Lew said. His hands involuntarily tightened into fists. “Goddamn it. I hate these bullshit games.”

Leyden shrugged and handed him a copy of the results. “Can’t help you more boys, sorry.”

 ************

Lew was woken up by a curt voicemail from Stone, telling him to come in ASAP for a full team brainstorm session.

Lew stumbled in past Loudmouth’s empty desk and into the bullpen.

“Coffee,” he muttered as he collapsed into his desk chair.

Runner pushed a cup into his hands. “There you go, Lew.”

“Thank you, my swift-footed friend,” Lew said.

Runner laughed. “You act like a drunk asshole when you haven’t slept enough. Shouldn’t you be able to survive without sleep now?”

“Human body still needs to sleep, Will, we haven’t advanced that far yet,” Lew said.

“Now that the great Lew Juergens has decided to make his grand entrance, let’s get this started,” Stone said. He nodded at Toye.

Toye made the whiteboard come out of its resting place while all the desks moved to the side. A dry erase pen uncapped and wrote the word **SLEDGE** in the middle of the board.

“Show off,” Vera said.

“Jackass is more like it,” Loudmouth said.

“What do we know?” Stone asked the team.

“Leckie said it all comes back to Sledge,” Runner said. He settled on top of Lew’s desk. “He told Lew that Sledge tied it all together even though Sledge doesn’t know about it.

“He called him an _innocent bystander_ ,” Loudmouth said.

“Right,” Lew agreed, “and Snafu said Oswalt was down in Banika looking for an old friend of a friend. I’m guessing he meant Sledge, even though he used the word _sledgehammer_ ; he probably got the first part of the word and just filled in the rest.”

“Good,” Stone said, “but how does Stella Karamanlis tie in?”

“Girlfriend?” Blithe asked.

“Doubtful,” Vera said, “Sledge isn’t exactly one for human interaction and I don’t think he’s inclined towards women anyway.”

“Just because he hero worships Haldane doesn’t mean he wants to sleep with him,” Stone said.

“Agreed,” Vera said, “but there’s hero worship and then there’s checking out Walt Hasser’s ass.”

“Let’s be honest here, who hasn’t?” Lew asked.

“More than we needed to know,” Morgan said. He walked over to the board and wrote down Stella’s name. “Karamanlis used to be a waitress at that seafood place, maybe she knew Sledge from her old job.”

“He’s a vegetarian,” Stone said.

“Christ this kid is a piece of work,” Toye said. He searched through his notes. “What about his past. Sledge isn’t from here.”

“Alabama. I doubt anyone from there would be after people in Banika ,” Vera said.

“I don’t know, scary fanatical churches?” Gibson asked.

“There are plenty of those everywhere,” Stone said, “no reason to target our city.”

“What about his family, friends, does anyone know his emergency contact?” Blithe asked.

Runner quickly read through the personnel files on Lew’s desk. “His emergency contact is Sid Phillips.”

“ _The_ Dr. Sid Phillips,” Lew clarified. He walked over to the board and tapped at Sledge’s name. “There’s a possible motivation. Famous doctor, dead med student, famous doctor’s boyhood best friend.”

“And Stella?” Vera asked, “where does she fit in?”

“Damn it,” Toye said, “we’ve got nothing.”

“Maybe we can talk to Leckie again. Or maybe even try and talk to Sledge himself,” De L’Eau said.

“Good idea,” Stone said, nodding his approval. “De L’Eau, email Sledge some questions. Say we’re updating his profile. We won’t bother him with an in-person visit. Vera, take Runner and dig through your Internal Affairs files. See if we have anything that would tie Stella to Sledge and the rest of our consultants and informants. Toye, Blithe, Morgan, you three are on call. Go home, get some sleep. Juergens, you take Gibson and go interview Leckie.”

“Now?” Lew asked.

“He’s awake,” Vera said, “if that matters.”

“Go,” Stone ordered, pointing his finger at the door. “Loudmouth, I’ll be in my office yelling at the Chief of Police. Don’t disturb me unless the world is actually ending.”

“And if the ball and chain calls?” Loudmouth asked.

“Tell Mac I’ll try to make it home tonight, but no promises,” Stone said. He ran a hand over his face. “I know this sucks, guys, but we already have two dead bodies in Banika, a kid running around not afraid to shoot cops, a possible master Manipulator, and I have a feeling it’s going to get worse.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Lieutenant,” Toye said.

“Go,” Stone ordered them again. He closed his office door with a slam.

Everyone gathered their things and began to scamper.

“So, should I get the car?” Gibson asked.

“Yeah,” Lew said. He blindly threw Gibson the keys and smiled when he caught them. Kid was going to turn out alright after all.

 ************

Leckie lived in a respectable home in suburbia. He made his money by working for various historical societies around the state. Cassandras in general were pretty damn good at recounting the past.

Though next time Lew came all the way out here, Gibson wasn’t driving. The kid had amazing reflexes but that didn’t give him an excuse to drive like a half-blind NASCAR racer.

“How did you get your license?” Lew asked when Gibson finally parked the car.

“My instructor said he was thankful for me avoiding a collision with a tractor trailer,” he answered.

“I think it had something to do with him never wanting to test you again,” Lew said. He held out his hand. “Give me the keys.”

“Runner thinks I’m a good driver,” Gibson said.

“He can also run fast enough to break the sound barrier,” Lew muttered.

Leckie was waiting for them in the doorway.

“You’re here about the body,” he said.

“Of Oswalt?” Lew asked.

“No, of--” Leckie paused. “You don’t know yet. Never mind, you will soon enough. Come in,” he said, “coffee’s on.”

“You’re a gentleman and a scholar,” Lew said. He waved his hand at them. “Leckie, meet Gibson, our newest staff member.”

“Always nice to see the young guns coming in to take out the old guards,” Leckie said. He put coffee down for all of them, with no offering of milk or sugar. Lew respected that.

“So, what _are_ you here for?” he asked.

“Your initial prediction from a week and a half ago,” Lew said.

Leckie took a deep sip of his coffee. “Ah, the one about Sledge.”

Lew nodded. “Yeah, anything else you want to tell us about that?”

Lew pointed at Gibson. “Is the kid going to take some notes.”

“Sure,” Lew said, “but don’t expect him to be as quick about it as Runner.”

Gibson scrambled to pull out his phone and paused with his fingers over the keyboard. “I’m ready,” he said.

Leckie gave him a dark look.

“What?” Gibson asked.

“Leckie’s a bit of a luddite,” Lew said.

“Don’t blame me when your phone gets hacked and you lose all your notes from this interview,” Leckie said.

“My phone is ultra-secured, it won’t get hacked,” Gibson said.

“Whatever you want to believe, Padawan,” Leckie said. He pushed his mug away. “So, where do you want to begin.”

“Sledge, why does it all come back to Sledge,” Lew said.

Leckie smirked. “You should ask your Atropos friend about that. But I’ll break it down for you lay people types. Some souls in this world, they are just at the center of converging lines. Sledge is one of those people, he can’t help it, it’s through no fault or effort of his own. He’s a center even when he doesn’t want to be. It’s why he’s such a good Reader.”

“So Sledge’s name came up out of pure coincidence?” Gibson asked.

“It’s not that simple, sport,” Leckie said. “Sledge is connected to it, but he doesn’t know how, or why, or that he’s even perpetuating it.”

“You’re giving me a migraine,” Lew said.

“I know that rock-like head of yours isn’t used to thinking, Juergens, but you’re going to have to make the effort on this one,” Leckie said. “Not to mention you seem to be ignoring the latter half of my prediction.”

“What was that again?” Lew asked.

“A big change is coming for you,” Leckie intoned.

“Right, about that,” Lew said, “I don’t know if you meant getting shot four times by a young kid who was out of his mind, but got to tell ya, Bob, not so much changed for me.”

“You lived all these years and yet you still think my predictions are immediate,” Leckie said. He shook his head. “You’ll never learn, but that’s the beauty of a person like you. You’re going to want to answer that.”

“Answer what?” Lew asked.

“It’s coming,” Leckie said. “Our meeting is going to be over in the next 10 minutes, but before you go, I just want to say something.”

“Bob, we got all day, I’m not going anywhere,” Lew said.

“Yeah, you are,” Leckie said, “and in more ways than one. I really am sorry for the loss that’s coming your way. I hate it when the brilliant go so young.” He stood up and poured another cup of coffee. “You need to look into your local Mimics and Manipulators. You won’t find your answers there but you might find a lead.”

“Bob, you’re being more cryptic than usual,” Lew said, “I don’t think I like it.”

Bob gave him a sad smile. “You won’t be thinking much about me for the next few days.”

Before Lew could ask him what he meant, both his and Gibson’s phones alerted. Gibson dropped his in shock, face gone white staring at the screen. Lew pulled out his own and took a minute to take in the text that flashed up at him.

 **OFFICER DOWN. GLOUCESTER AND VINE. ALL AVAILABLE UNITS REPORT.**

Lew pushed back from the table, chair screeching on the kitchen floor. Gibson followed suit, carefully pocketing his phone and looking at Lew.

“We have to go, Bob,” Lew said.

Bob nodded. “I really am sorry,” he called after them as they left.

 ************

Lew had never been in such a quiet hospital wing. It was unnatural, the silence. Which probably meant a sound manipulator was on the staff and giving everyone outside of Hamm’s room the space and privacy they needed.

Hamm was just a baby, barely an adult. He’d been the Coroner’s Assistant for two years, a genius kid who graduated school early. He was a sweet, quiet guy with a sense of humor and younger siblings who adored him. Now Hamm was nothing. Just another dead body with family and friends left behind to mourn.

“What happened?” Runner asked. He sat down next to Lew on the floor.

Lew shrugged. “Dispatch sent him out to pick up a leg found in a dumpster. The cop who went with him is catatonic right now. Hamm was conscious long enough to hit the panic button on his phone. Homicide and IA are in there right now talking to Doc Stern, trying to get anything else.”

“They’re not going to let us investigate it, are they?” Runner asked.

“Since Hamm was like us, probably not,” Lew admitted, “but Stone will have us do it off-the-books. There’s no way he’s going to sit back and chew his gum on this one. One of _us_ just died in Banika.”

Runner pulled on one of the loose threads of his jacket. “I thought it was you or Gibson,” he said. “When the call came through, you were the only ones out on a job.”

Lew nodded. “I thought it was you or Vera, figured you found something and decided to go look for yourselves. But it was Hamm, quiet, kiddo, Hamm.”

“What are we going to do?” Runner asked.

“Right now,” Lew said, “we’re going to mourn. We’re going to be here for Hamm’s family when they arrive. Someone is going back with Doc Stern either to his house or the morgue. We’ll let tomorrow figure out itself.”

“I’ve never lost a co-worker before,” Runner said.

Lew patted Runner’s head. “It doesn’t get any easier,” he said.

Stone came into the hallway and shook his head at them. “Sorry to break up the scene boys, but I need to borrow Lew.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant,” Runner said. He stood up and walked back over to where their team and half of the regular PD were gathered.

“What’s up?” Lew asked.

“Riggi won’t let me go to the Feds,” Stone said. “She said she doesn’t trust our local contacts. I need you to go talk to her.”

“Sure thing,” Lew said. He stood up and brushed off his pants. “How do I look?”

“Like a bum,” Stone said. He patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Lew.”

“Always here for you, Vin,” he said.

Lew gave one last look at his team, gathered in a mixed state of shock, sadness, and anger. He didn’t care what he had to bribe Lena with, they couldn’t just take this one with their thumbs up their asses. Lew hadn’t lived this long to let his friends and co-workers get picked off one-by-one.

 ************

The Chief of Police’s office was old fashioned, like something you’d expect to see in a museum. It wasn’t that far-fetched, since Lena Riggi and her family came to America just before the outbreak of the Civil War. Normally, Lew looked forward to a visit with Lena; right now he was just pissed off.

“Detective Juergens, you can’t go in there,” her secretary said.

“Watch me,” Lew said, pushing open the door to Lena’s office.

Lena was standing at the huge bay windows, looking down on the city below.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Lew said.

“Kiss my ass, Lew,” Lena said. She moved over to her desk and poured a glass of scotch. She motioned for him to sit down and poured a second glass.

Lew sat down and accepted his drink with a nod. He threw it back, letting the familiar burn pass by for a second before his cells repaired any damage. A downside of rapid healing abilities was a pretty sad inability to get drunk. He put his glass down and studied the woman before him.

Lena Riggi really was one of the most beautiful people he’d ever met. She was a classic, dark-haired beauty, made all the more formidable by her sharp mind and a backbone of steel. There was a time, decades ago, when Lew once dreamed of marrying the woman before him, but she was kind enough to inform him that she’d destroy him in less than a year.

Lew still didn’t know how to thank her for that warning. It wasn’t like they made greeting cards or fruit baskets for the occasion.

“I am sorry about Hamm,” Lena said, “he had great potential.

“You’re the one who gets to talk to his family,” Lew said, “save your condolences for them.”

“You’re angry with me,” Lena said.

“Why can’t we go to the Feds, Lena?”

“Because there’s no one at the local office I trust. I wouldn’t put it past them to have a hand in this anyway.”

Lew didn’t know if he could swallow a government conspiracy. “We have to tell someone,” he said. “We’re talking about a Master Manipulator here. Possibly a Sibyl. They pretty much broke Officer Jackson. Hamm is dead. Rob Oswalt is dead. Stella Karamanlis is still missing. All our evidence is missing its human trace essence. We have the responsibility to tell someone.”

Lena nodded. “I’ve already contacted my person in Washington,” she said, “he will handle it efficiently and quietly. Right now, you have to act as if you and your fellow officers are all alone. We have no idea who is behind this, but you know how rare it is to have a power that great without some sort of government contact.”

Lew had to bite the inside of his lip to keep a string of curses at bay. “They’re either here to make martyrs or examples out of us,” he said.

“Very good,” Lena said, “if you keep that up you might just earn a gold star.”

Lew laughed. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Lena.”

“Your job,” Lena said, “just like always. Don’t get weighed down by the inconsequential bullshit. Think about what you know. This crimes haven’t been the most flawlessly executed. Removing any and all human trace essence is a big clue and a rookie mistake.”

“Leave the gun, take the cannoli,” Lew muttered. “If it was a true professional they either wouldn’t care about leaving behind a fingerprint or trace because they know they can’t be found. If it was a government operative, they’d give us just enough rope to hang ourselves, just enough to make the case go cold. The person, or group, doing this is removing all human trace essence which means they have something to hide and they may very well be easy to find.”

“I’m always glad to see you’ve learned something after all these years,” Lena said.

“So I’m looking for the simplest explanation,” Lew said.

Lena sat forward in her chair, staring him down in a way that made him flinch.

“Lewis, my little Icarus, don’t over simplify it and don’t make it too complex. Remember that the term _red herring_ exists for a reason. Not everything will connect, you know we’re lucky if we just get a case to stick with plausible evidence. Don’t think of this as any different, even with the people involved.”

Lena’s phone rang. “I have to take this, Lew.”

“My signal to go?”

“Go home, get some rest. Tell Stone I ordered you too. You need a clearer head to handle all of this.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Lena shot him one last look as she answered her phone.

A smile took over her face as she greeted the person on the other line with a soft, “Hello, John.”

 ************

The great thing about having a friend who ran a 24-hour vet clinic meant you always had someone to share a beer with at atrocious hours of the night.

“The person behind this is pissing you the fuck off,” Hoosier said.

“All murderers piss me the fuck off, Hoosier,” Lew said.

“Nah,” Hoosier said, “this one is worse because right now he or she is winning. And competitive little shit you are, you just can’t stand that.”

“I think you’re confusing the two of us.”

“Bullshit,” Hoosier said, “I live confident in the knowledge that I’m the best veterinarian in this state, you, on the other hand, haven’t even been promoted past detective. And now you’re working a major case with a missing girl and two murders. I haven’t seen you this pissed off in years.”

Lew put down his beer bottle and leaned back on Hoosier’s couch. He refrained from making a comment on the two newest residents, the stray alley cat witnesses, and tried to find a way to explain what was going on in his head.

“I just feel like I’m missing something obvious,” he admitted. “Something I should’ve figured out by now.”

“You slept yet?” Hoosier asked.

“Nah, even though Lena told me to. Can’t really rest with Hamm’s killer out there.”

“Your sleep deprivation ain’t going solve shit,” Hoosier said. “Bed down in the guest bedroom, you know where the spare bedding is. Just don’t disturb the hamsters.”

“The hamsters always disturb me,” Lew muttered.

It’d been months since he needed to crash at Hoosier’s, but Lew couldn’t get any rest at his own house. He’d just spend all night reviewing case files anyway.

There was a stack of magazines on the bedside table, the top one catching his eye. There was a picture of a young man on the cover, a smug smile and curly hair staring up from the glossy pages. The headline said, _Dr. Sid Phillips And The Psychology of the Extraordinary Mind_.

Lew grabbed the issue and stumbled out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Hoosier asked.

“Work,” Lew called over his shoulder.

“What about sleep?”

“I’ve got plenty of years to make up for it.”


	3. Part Three

**Part Three**

Lew didn’t care who he scared or woke up as he slammed open the doors to the precinct. A hot lead didn’t care about proper entrances.

“Are you drunk?” Runner asked.

“Only a little bit,” Lew admitted. He headed straight for the white board and tacked up the magazine.

“Dr. Sidney Phillips,” he proclaimed.

“Can I buy a vowel?” Toye asked.

Everyone laughed at that, even Stone.

“What’s your point, Juergens?” he asked.

“Dr. Phillips makes his living writing about the psychology of our freak minds and positing theories about how we survive and cope in the world,” Lew said.

“Yeah, we know,” Morgan said, “what’s your point.”

“Doc Grant, when not running Banika’s drug ring, works as an actual doctor in that part of the city,” Lew said.

“So? They’re two doctors, we knew that,” Loudmouth said.

“Doc Grant and Phillips pretty much do the same exact thing only on different levels and with different motivations. Phillips is trying his best to make the rest of the population understand us, while Grant is trying to help the kids in Banika understand themselves. The only thing that separates the two of them is their level of notoriety and their clientele,” Stone said.

“And their sides of the law,” Vera said.

“The money the Banika Syndicate makes in its arms deals and drug running goes to treat anyone who seeks asylum with Doc Grant. It’s why we let them handle their own territory, by decree of Chief of Police Riggi,” De L’Eau said.

“So, what, Phillips has gone all dark side now?” Runner asked. “I can’t see him wanting to pin murders on his old buddy Sledge.”

“Sledge said he’s been keeping up with Sid through e-mails and phone calls. He seemed damn sure it was the real Sidney Phillips,” De L’Eau said.

“Maybe it was,” Lew said, “or maybe it was a Mimic. We’ve already got a Manipulator out there, it wouldn’t be a stretch for a Mimic. Phillips is a public figure, so a Mimic would have ample resources for learning him.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Toye said, “just answer me this: Why Sledge?”

“Because the general public wouldn’t have trouble believing that a hermit-like Sibyl with his level of powers could go crazy and murder people. They could say Phillips planted the idea in Sledge’s brain, so you bring down Phillips, Sledge, and our community all in one blow.” Lew shrugged. “At least that’s one of my working theories.”

“Or the sleep deprivation,” Runner said.

“I’m almost impressed,” Stone said, “it would explain why someone would take Karamanlis. She knows all of Grant’s clients and where to find them.”

“What are we dealing with here?” Gibson asked. “Is it like, a mob hit or some kids writing _Helter Skelter_ on a wall.”

“If you ask our Chief of Police, she’s leaning more towards Tuskegee,” Stone said. “Mimics can recognize other Mimics. We need to talk to one.”

“Hillbilly” Lew said.

“Wait until it’s a decent hour. I don’t want Haldane calling down here to rip me a new asshole before I’ve had my coffee,” Stone said.

“So what do we do in the meantime?” Blithe asked.

“Get some fucking sleep and do enough work to see if Juergen’s theory is plausible,” Stone ordered. He pointed at De L’Eau and Vera. “Hack into Sledge’s e-mail account, then go into Phillips’. See if it’s really him or just an imitator. Gibson, get me that report on the interview with Leckie.”

“I can’t, Lieutenant,” Gibson said.

“And why not?” Stone asked.

Gibson held out his phone. “I don’t know what happened to it, all my notes about the case are wiped off. It’s still working, must just be a memory glitch.”

Stone pinched his brow. “Of course it did. Fine, just give me a report on what you remember. Juergens, for Christ’s sake, get some sleep. Toye, Blithe, and Morgan, go down to the archives. See if we’ve come across any of this bullshit and the past.”

“What about me?” Runner asked.

“You can go get the coffee,” Stone said, “and I expect you back here in less than ten minutes.”

“What happened to never taking advantage of my powers for tasks not related to case-work?” Runner asked, quoting the rule book word-for-word.

Stone shrugged. “Get me my coffee or not, I’m still the one who signs off on your timecard.”

Runner was gone before Lew even had the chance to put in his order.

 ************

Lew could count on one hand the number of times he’d had a one-on-one conversation with Edward “Hillbilly” Jones. It wasn’t often he was in town long enough for a chat, and he wasn’t a coffee date kind of guy.

“So, Hillbilly is a Mimic,” Runner said. He rolled his eyes and asked, “Why is it always Classical Mythology?”

“Because government researchers aren’t too far out of the academic ivory towers,” Lew said. He parked in front of the community center just as the sun started to rise. “Hillbilly’s not just any Mimic. He’s travelled the world, learned from, and trained some of the best. He’s even worked with governments.”

“Hard to believe for a man who seems to make a living at playing instruments,” Runner said.

Lew shrugged. “Who Hillbilly is as a professional, and who he is off-the-clock, are two very different people.”

Haldane met them at the door of the community center.

“Sledge called, said you were coming,” he said, “it’s a good thing. Eddie was about to ship out again.”

“Any particular reason for that?” Runner asked.

Haldane smirked. “You think we haven’t noticed the bodies piling up? Hillbilly just goes for a more discreet method.” He patted both of them on the shoulders. “I am sorry for your loss. Hamm was a good kid.”

“His parents are asking for donations to the support societies, if you want to do something,” Lew said.

Haldane nodded. “I will.” He waved to the staircase. “You two know the way up. I’ve got a class to teach.”

“Take Runner with you,” Lew said.

“What the fuck?” Runner asked.

“I need to ask Hillbilly some things you don’t have the clearance to know,” Lew said. “Stone would have my balls, Will, I’m sorry. Trust me, you’ll enjoy art class with Mr. Haldane.”

Haldane laughed. “I excel at finger painting.”

“Whatever,” Runner muttered.

Lew watched them until he knew they were both safe behind the classroom door. He ran up the steps to Haldane’s office. Hillbilly was already there, fingers plucking away at an acoustic guitar.

“Do you know who is behind this?” he asked.

Hillbilly shook his head. “One thing I’ve always admired about you, Lew. You still haven’t learned to ease into a conversation.”

“I doubt we have the time to waste,” he said.

“Well, you certainly have it, so does Riggi, so do I,” Hillbilly said. He put down the guitar. “We’re all relics trying to pass through the modern world. Never finished, never done.”

“Aren’t you the morose asshole this morning,” Lew said.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a work in progress,” Hillbilly said with his typical preternatural calm.

“I never thought I was,” Lew said.

Hillbilly smirked. “We all are. Don’t be arrogant. What do you need?”

“Contact information. I need you to get me to Roe.”

“Roe? You think Gene Roe is behind this?”

“Not unless he’s decided to go back on everything he stands for, but Roe knows people. He was one of the first famous trainers of the Manipulators. He trained Bryan and LeMarie, among others. You can’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind,” Lew said.

“It hasn’t. Roe was always about keeping life right where it was, not taking it. Besides, what makes you think I know how to get to him.”

Lew scoffed. “Please, Hillbilly, you know everyone. So, can you get me the contact?”

“I got to tell you, Lew, Roe doesn’t really do stuff like this anymore. He went underground, deep underground, for a reason.”

“But he still needs to have contacts there, right? Look, I know the crews down in Louisiana aren’t what they used to be, but there has to be a few of the old-timers kicking around. The person behind this, they have to be seriously trained.”

“I’m surprised you still think it’s only one person behind this. And what makes you think Roe’s going to share any intel with _you_ anyway?”

“My charming personality and nice smile?”

Hillbilly shook his head. “Roe won’t talk. He really has walked away from anything even hinting at a public record. I can give you a name though, the last student Roe personally trained.” He wrote something down and handed the piece of paper to Lew.

Lew studied it and tried not to laugh. “Who names their kid Romus?”

“The same people who name their kid Wilbur, I’m guessing,” Hillbilly said.

 ************

“What do we know about this guy?” Runner asked as they drove into Jackson City.

Lew opened the file De L’Eau and Vera prepared for them. “Romus Valton Burgin isn’t a Manipulator on the level of Gene Roe, but he’s worked his powers enough to run a highly successful consultation firm.”

“That’s only a little unethical,” Runner said.

“Worse has already been done in the names of business and capitalism,” Lew said.

“How was it like living during the Great Depression?” Runner asked.

“I feared for my life more during the Atomic Age,” Lew said.

Runner whistled. “Holy shit,” he said staring up at the building before them. “Look at the House that Romus Built.”

“Apparently being a little unethical pays well,” Lew said.

Runner parked the car and they both craned their necks to see how high the skyscraper went.

“Business consultants work in these fancy buildings, and our Archives and Cold Case teams are stuck in leaking basements,” Runner said, “sometimes the world is really fucked up.”

“No argument there,” Lew agreed.

Lew and Runner both adjusted their suit jackets as they walked into the sleek office building. Everyone inside was too busy talking on their phones or glued to their computers to notice their entrance. It seemed typical for this type of crowd, but they weren’t exactly the class of people Lew and Runner normally handled.

Runner approached the desk first and held a quick conversation with the security guard. It must’ve worked, because a phone call was made and Lew could see movement coming from the top floors.

There was nice mixture of people among the staff, both those with extra talents and just a regular knack for business and numbers. He doubted half of them even knew the person in the cubicle next to them could climb the walls or make that memo disintegrate with their mind. This crowd wasn’t exactly the kind to let the freak flag fly, but Burgin clearly hired the best people for the positions he needed, regardless of if they could levitate or not.

An unassuming young man in a business suit emerged for the top office. Lew tracked his movements, surprised at how calm the man appeared. Most people hurried a bit more when they heard the cops were there.

“That him?” Runner asked, settling beside Lew.

“Not quite what I was expecting, but Roe always liked the subtle approach,” Lew said.

It was hard not to picture a Manipulator as some megalomaniac freak who talked about himself in the third person. Most of them though, were the quiet, unassuming type. Sure, there were a handful of assholes kicking about, but that happened in every group. What made a Manipulator succeed, more than anything, was the assumption that they were harmless. Despite all the horror movie plots and crime thriller twists, people, in general, never suspected the calm ones.

“I hate when they’re so friggin’ self-assured,” Runner said.

“At least we know he’s good at his job. Half the selling point is the illusion,” Lew said.

“Detectives,” Burgin addressed them with a warm smile and strong handshakes. “Hillbilly told me to expect you. Let’s take this to the conference room, shall we?”

Lew nodded in agreement and they followed Burgin into the conference room. Though with the bullet resistant glass and the steel reinforced door it felt more like a panic room.

“You planning on starting World War III?” Runner asked.

Burgin shook his head. “The security and privacy of our clients is an upmost priority.”

“Nice to see people still toeing the company line. Can we stop the bullshit? We’re kind of working a case and time is of the essence,” Runner said.

Burgin smirked. “People like you always want to rush through things, Detective Conley. You’ll need to learn patience to succeed at your job.”

“Because I’m really going to take advice from a business consultant,” Runner said as he sat down in disgust. “Why don’t you just tell us if you know something.”

“I know _something_ ,” Burgin said, “but I think you want me to be a bit more specific than that. No, I don’t know who is behind your recent crime wave.”

“But,” Lew prompted.

“But, I think you need to talk to someone who knows a thing or two about working inside jobs. He’s also a consultant, but he works more with international governments than what we do here. This venture is more about the smoke and mirrors of making money. His business is more about getting people to put the gun to their own heads and pull the trigger,” Burgin said.

“There are laws against that,” Lew said.

“Not if you have a government’s written permission,” Burgin said.

“That’s bullshit,” Runner said, “no one has an actual license to kill.”

“So, then, you’re not certified to use your weapon with fatal force if necessary,” Burgin said.

“That’s different,” Runner argued.

“It’s a matter of perspective,” Burgin agreed. “The person I’m sending you to doesn’t have a shiny badge and a nifty uniform, but he is trained and certified just as much as you are.”

“This is turning into a wild goose chase,” Runner said.

“That’s what you get for following the white rabbit,” Burgin said. He handed them a business card. “He’ll come to you. It will be better for all concerned that way.”

A tall blonde woman entered the room, an annoyed look on her face and a cell phone in her hand. “Come on, Burgie, we have that meeting with the Nixon board members.”

“I’ll be there in a second, Virginia,” he said.

She sighed and left the room.

“I’m sorry to cut this meeting short, but the stock markets wait for no man. A word of advice, though, for a Manipulator and a Mimic to pull off a successful job, it has to be like a stake-out. It can take years for a successful operation to come to fruition. I highly doubt, since actual bodies are being left behind, that you are dealing with that dedicated of a job. Take the time to look over your evidence again, there must be an inconsistency somewhere.”

 ************

The case had gone quiet and cold since Hamm’s funeral. The only thing they’d found was the identity of the strung-out kid who shot Lew. A young man by the name of Tony Peck, known around Banika for his addiction to both mithra and somnus. They couldn’t find a trace of him now, and the drug ring connection seemed like a distraction more than anything else.

Lew never did like being fucked around with.

“Please tell me you’ve got some good news,” Stone said as De L’Eau burst into the bullpen with a smile on his face.

He held up his laptop in triumph. “We’ve cracked it. Finally, we figured it out. It took five calls to his sister, and a visit to his secretary, but we’ve figured it out.”

“And that would be, what?” Morgan asked.

“They’ve mimicked Sid Phillips in his voice mails, in his e-mails, hell, at this point, they might even be mimicking him in person. It’s subtle, it’s hard to tell, but it’s all in the speech patterns. Most people wouldn’t notice it, would think he was just working to drop his Alabamian accent, but his sister said it was the one thing he always said he’d never lose. Dr. Phillips never wanted to forget where he came from. I’ve got to admit, I’m impressed,” De L’Eau said.

“Nice to know your anal retentiveness and love of semantics finally paid off,” Loudmouth said.

“And Sledge really didn’t know it wasn’t his best friend, ” Vera said.

“Sledge’s visions incapacitate him so badly some days he’s lucky enough to know his own name. He probably wouldn’t notice something that subtle, or just shrug it off as his friend changing and adjusting to his new life,” Lew said.

“And the best Manipulators and Mimics usual come with mind control. They could make a mother forget her own child,” Stone said.

“Keeps getting better,” Toye said.

“Has anyone got in contact with Corrigan?” Loudmouth asked.

“What?” Stone asked.

“I just figured, if Riggi won’t let us go to the Feds, why don’t we just call up our former illustrious leader. If it’s an inside job like Burgin and Hillbilly implied, Corrigan should know,” Loudmouth said.

“The jackass has a point,” Morgan agreed.

“If we go to Corrigan, he’ll try to take this case away from us, argue jurisdiction or purview. Corrigan would have no problem stepping on all of us for his own career advancement,” Lew said.

“You’re only a little bitter,” Gibson said.

“I wasn’t his biggest fan. I didn’t like what happened to our squad after he came in. Could just be a coincidence, but things started going to shit once he came here from the academy,” Lew said.

“Kind of like Gibson,” Morgan said.

“Fuck you,” Gibson answered.

“Aww, our boy’s all grown-up and cursing out J.P.,” Runner said, slinging an arm around Lew’s shoulders. “Aren’t you so proud of him.”

“Speaking of grown-ups, has Burgin’s mysterious friend got in contact with you?” Stone asked Lew.

“Not yet and I don’t know if he ever will. All we’ve got is a name and so far it’s not coming up on any background checks. I’d ask Lena, but I don’t want her to slap me,” Lew said.

“Always knew you were more lace than leather,” Toye said.

“Sorry to ruin your fantasies, Joe,” Lew said.

“If we try to hack any deeper into Phillip’s e-mail account we’ll alert someone, if we haven’t already,” Vera said, trying to steer them back to the case.

Stone’s reply was cut-off by all the phones ringing at once.

“That’s a bad omen,” Loudmouth said. He picked up the closest phone. “Franklin City Special Interests, how may I help you?” He waited a minute and then waved the headset. “It’s dead.”

Stone picked up another one of the phones, still ringing and made a face. “Dead air,” he said.

Runner ran around the room and checked all the phones.

“Verdict?” Stone asked when Runner slowed down enough to stay in one spot.

“All dead.”

“I hate this bullshit,” Toye said. He grabbed the closet phone. “Listen dipshit, you want to do something, try acting like a real man and not a school kid. You want our attention, the dead bodies got it. Now either do something or fuck off.” He slammed down the phone.

All the phones stopped ringing at once.

“That was smart,” De L’Eau said, “if that gets me killed, I will haunt you.”

“We tried to be nice and cordial,” Runner said, “and they shot Chuckler and killed Hamm.”

Lew shrugged. “He’s got a point,” he said, “though the pissed off reaction was probably what they were going for. Still, that’s only mildly annoyed for Toye.”

Everyone shook their head in agreement; even Toye couldn’t argue that one.

Lew’s cell phone started ringing.

“Answer it,” Stone said.

“Hello?” Lew asked.

“Detective Juergens,” the voice mockingly drawled, “tell Detective Toye that his professional manner needs some work.”

“Who is this?” Lew asked.

“I believe you requested a meeting with me through Romus Burgin?”

“Speirs,” Lew said.

“There’s a small bookstore at the intersection of Toombs and Parris. I hope to see you there before sundown.”

“Or what?” Lew asked.

“Or else you’ll be even more lost than you are now.”

The conversation ended with dead air.

Lew closed his phone and gathered his coat and gun. “Got a meeting to go to,” he said.

“And if it’s not Speirs?” Gibson asked.

“Then cherish these as my final words,” Lew said with a wink and a wave.

 ************

Ron Speirs had a calmness about him that made Lena look like a coffee addict with the shakes. He clearly didn’t see Lew or Runner as any sort of threat and seemed to take this meeting out of amusement more than a sense of duty.

“Juergens and Conley, I’ve heard about both of you,” he said by way of greeting.

Runner and Chuckler sat down in the two empty armchairs bordering the Memoir and Poetry sections.

“So, what, you run the local FBI branch or something?” Runner asked.

Speirs slowly blinked. “I would never work for such an ineffective company,” he said. “Yet I do occasionally work with them as a favor.” He sat forward. “I’m going to give you boys some advice. Some things are pure and simple, the best kind of Ops are run that way. You are not dealing with a well-run Op, you’re dealing with a corporate office and idiots who follow the rule book rather than instinct and experience.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Runner asked.

“It means all this bullshit is sponsored,” Lew said. “Inside job,” he guessed.

“You tell me,” Speirs said, “what are the main motivators for any action.”

“Greed, power, fear, and revenge,” Runner said.

“Someone does their homework,” Speirs said.

“You try finding motive behind any of this bullshit,” Runner said.

Speirs smirked. “Tell me why you think this has to be an inside job.”

“An outsider might dump a body in Banika, an insider would know it’s run by a crime syndicate. An outsider wouldn’t assume the crimes are connected. An insider, one in Special Interests, would know that we handle Banika, almost exclusively, because of its residents. Only an insider could or would send a message like that. But you know all of this already,” Lew said.

“That’s quite an assumption,” Speirs said.

“More of an educated guess. An assumption would be that you’re not only a Manipulator but a sociopath on top of it which means you kind of win the Psychosis Awards, doesn’t it? Mr. Personality, that’s you,” Lew said.

“You’re amusing,” Speirs said, “I have killed men for lesser insults.”

“You don’t seem the threatening type,” Runner said.

Speirs smiled. “That wasn’t a threat. Just a statement of fact.” He leaned back and studied the two of them. “What would you say if I told you Oswalt was a Healer?”

“I’d ask for the access to your blood tests since ours don’t show that,” Lew said.

“Oswalt was a Healer, still in training, but with a focus on the brain and the mind,” Speirs said, tapping a finger off his temple. “And what if I told you Oswalt and Phillips were working together to treat people like us both in terms of mental and physical health?”

“I’d say Oswalt was more than stumbling around Banika looking for Sledge. He’d probably need to talk with Doc Grant, someone who made a career off working with freaks like us for the past twenty years,” Runner said.

“But the minute Stella Karamanlis disappeared Doc Grant and his kids went underground. So if Oswalt was sent here--” Lew stopped mid-sentence. “Damn it, _he_ was the distraction. They made him a sacrifice.”

“Feel free to chime in anytime, Speirs,” Runner said.

“Oh, no, I think you boys are doing a great job. I can tell you though, having read through the digital copy of your reports, that you are _not_ dealing with a Master Manipulator. Such a person would either want to be known or wouldn’t even bother with the removal of human trace essence. It wouldn’t be there anyway. What need do Manipulators have for bullets and knives when they can simply shut your brain down,” Speirs said.

“What, no walking in front of a bus?” Lew asked.

“Human instinct goes pretty damn far,” Speirs said, “even I haven’t figured out how to diminish that yet.”

“So, no fear of a government backed zombie apocalypse? Good to know,” Runner said.

“Do you have any intel of value, Speirs?” Lew asked.

Speirs nodded. “You’re not going to get everyone behind this. I’m sorry to say, you all seem very dedicated to your jobs and I respect that. You don’t back down, I respect that even more. But you’re going against greater numbers and resources. I suggest you look to your past, you may find your answers there.”

“Do you know how long that could take?” Lew asked.

Speirs stood and pointed at Runner. “Then it’s a good thing you have him.” He tipped his head. “Detectives, good luck.”

He was gone before either of them could protest.

“What the fuck,” Runner said.

“I know, right,” Lew said.

He followed Runner out of the bookstore, nodding to the short man behind the desk.

Lew’s cell phone rang the minute they stepped outside.

“Speirs, again?” Runner asked.

“No, it’s Sledge.” Lew said. He flipped open the phone. “Gene, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sledge rasped out, “minus the whole my friend’s apparently an imposter bit. But that’s not important. You need to get down to Shelton’s hang out.”

“Gene, what’s going on?” Lew asked.

“He’s going to die if you don’t get off this phone and get him help,” Sledge said. “I’ve called 911, but Runner will get there faster. You need to go.” He hung up the phone.

“Runner, I need you to go to Shelton’s place. Sledge said he’s hurt. I’ll follow in the car.”

Runner nodded and ran off, stirring debris in the street the only sign he was once there.

Lew got in the car and took a moment to gather himself. They were being picked off, one-by-one. It was personal, that much was clear.

He sped to Shelton’s place, and heard the sirens of the approaching ambulance as he got out of the car.

Shelton was on his doorstep, still conscious, a pool of blood around him. Lew tried to put a smile on his face but it was damn hard, seeing Shelton like this.

Runner came up to him. “I tried to stop the bleeding but I didn’t want to pack the wound with anything in that house.”

“There’s a first aid kit in the trunk with sterile bandages,” Lew said.

He walked up to Shelton and crouched down beside him. “Quite a mess you got yourself in, Snaf,” he said.

“My own line about to be cut, you think,” Snafu stuttered out.

“Nah, Shelton, you’ll live to see another night,” Lew said.

Runner came back with the full first aid kit and a cell phone. “Medic called, they’re just around the corner.”

“I don’t got my insurance card,” Snafu said.

“You’ll be covered under our plan as an informant,” Runner said.

Lew stepped back and let him work, not even bothering to follow the quick movements of his hands.

“You played dead?” Lew asked.

“Like an opossum,” Shelton said, “I ain’t never seen that man before. Something mean about him. Didn’t smell right. Not from these parts. Too sterile, too clean. Smelled like an old man.”

“Was he an old man?” Lew asked.

“Older than me,” Shelton said, “Younger than you, but they all are. He reminded me of the way my daddy used to smell when we tried to go to Church. Incense and Stetson, that’s how I came to learn about God.”

“You’re rambling worse than usual,” Lew said.

Shelton’s skin was starting to go pale, his body going into shock, but there was still a lazy smile on his face.

“I knew something wasn’t right with the man,” he said. “He too big and clean cut for Banika. But I didn’t run. Punched him in the mouth.”

He held up his right first, showing the busted knuckles.

The medics arrived with the wailing sirens and the smell of diesel exhaust.

“What happened?”

Runner filled them in as they took Snafu’s vitals.

Lew grabbed a sterile swab out of the first aid kit and wiped around Snafu’s bleeding knuckles before they loaded him up.

Runner came back. “You think he’s going to be okay?”

“Shelton isn’t one to give up on life so easily. It may be a shitty life he lives, but it’s _his_. Ride with them, take a report.”

“Where are you going?”

“To see Leyden,” he said.

Lew watched the ambulance drive off, eyes following the flashing red lights until he could no longer see.

 ************

Shelton was healing nicely, enjoying all the attention of the nursing staff and the free food. It didn’t change the fact that half of their informants were now on edge. You lose an employee and a CI in less than a month, people got twitchy.

They were taking Speirs’ advice and looking into Lew’s former colleagues. It was a long list, since they couldn’t discredit the children and grandchildren of former employees.

Lew looked up from his computer when Runner dropped a stack of old photographs on his desk. He sorted through them, smiling as he caught sight of himself in the old precinct photos.

“Aren’t you the most open stalker in the world,” he said.

“I was planning on sleeping with your dirty shirts, but this seemed easier,” Runner said. He pointed to a photograph from the 1980s. “Do you remember anything from this group of detectives?”

Lew took the picture and gave it a closer look, trying not to grimace at all the _Miami Vice_ suit styles. The 1980s really weren’t forgiving in terms of fashion. Still, ridiculous clothing and hair styles aside, the 1980s were a significant time for the Spook Squad.

“This was our first attempt to build a joint force between our squad and the original Franklin PD. I can’t say it was very successful. You had guys like Haney who really couldn’t give less of a shit, but then most of the others resented being dropped onto a force with a bunch of freaks. Thought we’d contaminate them just by breathing the same air.”

“Any of those guys held a grudge for a long time? I’m guessing that it’s someone from the 80s since Shelton smelled someone bathed in Stetson.”

“Scent memories are always strong,” Lew agreed. He looked over the pictures again, flipping through the stacks over and over. It was difficult, Lew was still about staying to himself in those days. The world had changed pretty damn rapidly, and the 80s were his time of adjustment. He stopped at the team photo from 1988.

“I wouldn’t call it a grudge, but this guy, Jameson, he wasn’t exactly happy I made detective when I’d never been to the Academy. He was one of those by the book guys. Didn’t stay here long, went to the military as far as I know.”

“Were you guys jackasses to him?” Runner asked.

“Other than typical make-the-new-guys-sweat? Nah,” Lew said.

“But could he have taken it that way? You guys can be pretty harsh and hell, I can’t imagine what it was like back then, attitude and all,” Runner said.

“I don’t think he ran away to the military looking for warm fuzzies but anything’s possible. I really don’t remember much about the guy. He was one of those overenthusiastic meatheads. Said he would kill anyone who got in his way but never fired his weapon. Not that that’s a loss, most cops would love to never use fatal force, but Jameson was the type a guy who though the gun and the badge made him a badass,” Lew said.

“And you have no idea where he is now?”

“He wasn’t exactly one for the reunions. Haney didn’t keep up with him, so no idea.”

“Worth a look, isn’t it?”

“Considering how little we have by way of leads, sure. Go see Lena first, make sure we won’t be stepping on any toes,” Lew said.

Runner gulped. “Shouldn’t you go see her?”

“You have to learn how to to talk to the Chief of Police, Will, now’s a good a time as any to start.”

“Okay,” Runner said with the conviction of a man about to go to the gallows.

Lew shook his head and turned back to his laptop. He had three e-mails. One from Leyden, telling him his evidence was back and that he needed to come see the results in person. One from Sledge telling him to go see Leyden ASAP, and after, if he could please bring Sledge some painkillers. And another one from Shelton, asking him to stop by for a visit and that it wouldn’t kill him to go see Leyden.

Lew didn’t know what was going on, but he guessed he needed to go to the lab.

“Don’t go see Leyden,” Leckie said. He collapsed in Runner’s chair, looking like he had run all the way to the precinct.

“Nice to see you too, Bob,” Lew said. He reached into his desk and pulled out a water bottle, dropping it in front of Leckie. “But I kind of have to go. If it’s something Leyden’s not comfortable e-mailing about, it needs to be seen in person.”

“Bad idea to go down there, Juergens,” Leckie said.

“Bob, you’re telling me not to go down there. Sledge is telling me I _have_ to and Shelton says he doesn’t think he sees me dying today so what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Bob gulped down the water and shrugged. “I guess you’ve got to go then.”

“Thank you,” Lew said. He put on his jacket. “Why don’t you hang around, bother Loudmouth and De L’Eau for a bit. Vera and Stone should be back from their meeting in an hour.”

“I’ll keep your chair warm, Lew,” he said, “good luck.”

Lew gave Leckie a confused smile and shook his head. People were acting all kinds of strange today.

 ************

The sky was dark by the time he got to the lab, a storm coming in or something worse. Lew got out of his car and looked around. It was quiet with an unnatural absence of sound. He reached into his coat, felt his fingertips brush his phone and sent out the distress code. Lew knew what it felt like to walk into a fight, he was achingly familiar with the concept, and nothing about this was good.

“Sound and weather manipulation, that’s cute,” Lew called out, “I just hope you weren’t stupid enough to mess with anyone inside that building.”

“Oh, like him,” a man’s voice yelled out.

Leyden came scrambling out the door way. His face was busted up, but he looked more pissed off than seriously hurt.

“You beat up, Leyden? Hell, most people would consider that a civil service,” Lew said. Lew dropped his phone into Leyden’s hands and shoved him behind the car. “Why don’t you come out so I can congratulate you.”

“And what makes you think I’d find that as something worthy,” the man said. He stepped out of the building, guns out.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Lew said as he came face-to-face with Jameson.

“Juergens, I really think you would’ve figured it out before now,” he said.

“Honestly, Jameson, you weren’t even on my radar. I hadn’t thought about you in years, but hell, Shelton was right. You _are_ bathed in Stetson,” Lew said.

“Didn’t they teach you not to antagonize an assailant?” Jameson asked. “Oh, that’s right, you never went to the Academy.”

“Nah, Jameson, in my day we believed experience was the best teacher, not schoolbooks. It helped weed out all the assholes who were only in it for bragging rights and badge bunnies.”

“And look where that got you,” Jameson said, “you’re still just a detective.”

“We can’t all be roaches on the bottom rung of the government ladder,” Lew said.

Jameson laughed before aiming his gun and shooting Lew in the kneecap.

Lew’s instincts let him lean on the car rather than crumple on to the ground. It always was a shock to the system, and a bullet in the kneecap was still a bullet in the kneecap, accelerated healing rate or not.

The only problem was the cells weren’t going through their sickly sweet feeling of reknitting and reforming.

“Not such a big man now, are you? You like our new experiment? We found a way to coat the bullets to work against freaks like _you_.”

“You abducted a girl, killed two people, attacked a good number of police officers and informants all to shoot me in the kneecap? What is your fucking problem,” Lew said.

“You’re just our guinea pigs. Look at how those Franklin City Freaks can’t take care of their own population. You think you’re really a big concern for us?”

“You tell me, Jameson, you’re the one going around killing in the name of what? Government? Science? Progress? Does your mind not understand how fucked up that is or are you really just that stupid?”

“It’s for the greater good. For the protection of my people,” Jameson said.

“ _Our_ people,” Lew corrected, “last time I checked we’re all still humans here.”

“You’re not human,” Jameson said. He fired off another round, this one going through Lew’s shoulder.

Lew didn’t bother to stop the cursing that spilled out. He didn’t want to give Jameson the satisfaction to hear it, but hell, it made Lew feel better. Of course, that could also be the fact that he could hear Runner approaching and that his knee cap was finally knitting itself together.

“I didn’t think they let nut-jobs like you out among the general population. You’ve got to tell me that’s just a bit more of a concern,” Lew said.

Jameson laughed and lifted his gun one more time. He crumpled to the ground before he could make the final shot.

Lew looked around, trying to find who pulled the trigger. Runner was behind the car with Leyden, so it couldn’t have been him.

Lena approached from inside the lab, a man in a marine uniform beside her.

“Nice shot, Lena,” he called out.

“I told you I had it covered,” she said. She walked over to him. “You okay, Lew?”

“Already healing. What about Jameson?” he asked.

“They don’t let me use tasers with fatal force,” she said.

“Who’s the new guy?”

“My contact from Washington.”

“Do I get a name?”

“No,” Lena said, “he’s here to finish up the job.”

Lew snorted. “It’s not already finished.”

Lena shook her head. “Lew, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. If you think we do mind fucks on our new recruits, you have no idea what those other places do.”

Lew shook his head. He thankfully took the offer of Lena’s free shoulder. “Everything’s going to disappear, isn’t it? Like none of this ever happened. Like it was all a bad dream.”

“You know how it goes,” Lena said.

“What about Stella?”

“Her and her family were paid a large sum of money. Her information concerning Doc Grant and the Banika Syndicate was very valuable to the DEA.”

“And Phillips?” Lew asked.

“He’s going back down to Alabama for a bit.”

“This is fucked up, Lena,” Lew said.

“I know,” Lena agreed.

An ambulance came roaring into the parking lot along with a clean-up crew.

“Your ride is here,” Lena said, “Conley, stop eavesdropping with Leyden and get your asses over here.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said.

Lena patted Lew on the back and transferred him over to Runner’s free shoulder.

“Say hi to Shelton for me, boys,” she said, “I’ve got to go handle this.”

Lew turned to Runner. “Nice of you to show up. Any slower there, Grandma, and I might be dead,” he said.

“Christ, Lew, stop talking,” Leyden said. “I have a fucking headache the size of Manhattan and you won’t shut up.”

Lew never laughed so hard getting into an ambulance.

 ************

It was two weeks after the incident and they were still cleaning up the mess. It was hard as hell to bury something and erase all knowledge of its existence in the digital age. And Lew was still pissed off about it all.

“What’s the fucking point,” Lew said, slamming down a stack of paperwork. “We got Jameson but you can’t tell me there’s not a whole crew backing him. God knows how many people are behind this and now we’re shut down by the Alphabet Organizations because one of their own was a friggin’ psycho.”

“But we got Hamm’s killer, Lew. We’ve got the guy who killed Oswalt, kidnapped Karamanlis and tried to gut Shelton. That matters to their families,” Stone said.

“It just feels like some bullshit test. From Jones, to Burgin, to Speirs, it fears like they’re laughing at us, judging us. And Speirs knew where Stella was all along. And she’s not talking to us. What the hell, Stone?”

Stone patted Lew on the shoulder. “You’ve been playing this game longer than any of us here. Even Lena hasn’t spent as much time in the trenches as you. It’s hard not to take this one personal. And yeah, this whole thing is reeking with so much bullshit I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if they were testing Sledge’s capacity to stay sane or our ability to do our jobs or what. But Lew, you of all people know how hard it is to go against a shadow organization with the full backing of the government.”

Lew snorted at that. “You’re right,” he agreed, “so, what the hell are you doing here on your day off? I thought Mac was dragging you down south for some antiquing or some bullshit.”

Stone gripped the back of his own neck, his tell that he was delivering bad news.

“What is it?” Lew asked.

“You’re being reassigned,” Stone said.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Lew asked.

Stone shook his head. “Look, after the whole blow up it’s been decided by city hall that the whole precinct needs to be restructured and expanded.”

“So we’re being punished.”

“You’re being promoted,” Stone said, “it was supposed to happen two years ago but Corrigan buried it before it could go through. Something about you and Leckie rendering his car ineffective.”

“We wanted to see if the sugar in the gas tank thing was true.”

“Why didn’t you just ask one of the mechanics?”

“I’m all about the practical application. Is Runner coming?”

“No.”

“Can I refuse the promotion?”

“Yeah, if you want to be a detective in the archival unit.”

“So, no choice then.”

“It might be good for you to finally stand on your own, Juergens. And I don’t think Conley would applaud you putting your career on hold while you wait for him to catch up. Look, as stupid as you are--”

“Thanks, Vin,”

“—You are damn good at doing your job. It might annoy the hell out of me how you somehow manage to always get your work done, but you know what you’re doing. You know how to use your instincts and you have a scary high case solve rate for someone who is not a Reader.”

“When’s my last day?” Lew asked.

“Next Friday,” Stone said.

“Damn, they don’t waste time.”

“Lena was fighting it, but she lost this one.”

“Thanks for telling me, Vin.”

Stone patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not like we’re never going to see you again.”

“You sure about that?”

“I have a feeling,” Stone said before leaving.

Lew tried not to get pissed off but it really wasn’t working. This was his home, damn it, and he was being evicted.

“So, you’re leaving us for the big office,” Runner said, taking his seat.

“Stone made it pretty clear I didn’t have a choice.”

“Hey, the higher-ups need a guy like you in their pay grade. You can shake things up from the inside.”

“Nice to know you still think a lot of me.”

Runner shrugged. “Well, since you’ve been around since they laid the cornerstone of this city--”

“Funny, really, classic.”

Runner went quiet for a minute and fiddled with everything on his desk.

“Damn, Sasquatch,” Runner said, “you’re going to make me cry.”

Lew laughed. “Like you didn’t know Stone was setting you up to work with Gibson from the start.”

“I was just waiting for you to catch up,” Runner said.

“Just too fast for an old man like me,” Lew said.

“So, what do we do now?” Runner asked.

Lew handed one of the paper files to Runner and kicked the shredder over to his side of the desk.

“We keep doing our job, just like always.”


End file.
